


Once Upon a Time in Mexico

by edibleflowers



Series: A Year in the Life [5]
Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey's reeling from bad news. Chris steps in to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time in Mexico

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in August of 2000. It has specific relation to the stories "Least Complicated" and "Best of My Life", though those do not have to be read to understand this. It's an alternate ending to "Sundreams", in which Joey does not meet another girl. I wrote it to tie up the series (and before I realized I was going to finish "Sundreams" after all).
> 
> If you don't want to plow through all that hetfic, the long and short of it is that Joey, JC and Lance met three girls who were best friends, and JC and Lance's girls transferred to a Florida college to be closer to them, but Joey's didn't because their relationship wasn't as close. At this point in time, Joey's on a week-long vacation by himself in Akumal, Mexico, and he has just found out about the transfer courtesy of JC.

"Jesus, Chris," Joey says. Chris's name comes out like a sob. "I just can't figure it out. Is it me? Did I do something wrong? I mean, first Kel, and now Lindsey, and. I don't get it."

 _He just found out_. Chris mentally curses JC for calling Joey and blabbing the news, about Karyn and Carrie's transfer to CFU while Lindsey -- Joey's purported girlfriend -- stayed behind at IU. Chris wishes Joey wasn't thousands of miles away right now, because he wants to hug his friend and tell him everything will be all right. "No, Joe. It's not you."

"But it keeps happening." Something swishes close to the phone. The sound makes Chris think of water in a glass, or beer in a bottle.

Something inside him gives. "Where are you staying?"

"What?"

"Your hotel there, where are you?"

"It's called Casa Salvaje, but--"

"Okay. Joe, don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Uh--"

* * *

At midnight, sitting in the airport with a dozing Dre, Chris wonders what the hell he's doing. He scratches the stubble on his jaw and tries to focus on his Gameboy. He hopes Joey appreciates this.

* * *

The look on Joey's face is utterly worth it. Jaw dropped, eyes wide, Joey Fatone is the absolute picture of astonishment.

"You're here," he says, and Chris grins. Joe smells like he's been on a three-day bender, and he doesn't look much better, but he's smiling now and that makes everything - the turbulent flight, the arrogant clerk who sold him his ticket, Dre's unhappy glower at being awakened at eleven o'clock at night for protection at the airport - worth it.

"Come in," Joey says, and Chris moves past him into the room. Clothes are flung here and there, and a blue funk seems to hang in the air. Chris tosses his bag on the bed, then strides to the balcony doors and opens them, pushing them outward. Fresh air breezes into the room, warm and salty, and Chris takes in a deep breath before turning to look at Joey again.

Joey still has that shell-shocked look on his face, and he hasn't moved from his original position by the door. Chris flops down on the couch, noticing idly that Joey is wearing only boxers, and he has bedhead. Chris flashes a winning smile. "So tell me what there is to do around this place."

"I can't believe you're here," Joey says, sitting down on the bed.

"And I wouldn't because why? Dumbass," Chris says dismissively.

"I'm, uh, going to take a shower." Joey gets up and stumbles into the bathroom.

 _What's that about_? Chris wonders as he flips on the television. He wonders what time it is back home and what the others think of the voicemails he left saying where he was going. They're probably furious. He grins to himself.

* * *

When Joey comes out of the shower, Chris is asleep, his head back on the couch and his mouth wide open. Joey is relieved, amused, and a little disappointed, all at once. He was hoping they could go out to lunch and talk. Still, he can change now without Chris watching him. He does so quickly, tossing the towel back into the bathroom and shrugging into shorts and an old shirt. Then he prods Chris's shoulder.

No response, except for a slight snort. "Chris," Joey says, shaking his arm. It's not unusual, Chris dropping into sudden sleep like this, and when Joey thinks about how he must have had to get on a plane at midnight to be here now, he suddenly regrets trying to wake Chris. He decides to leave him alone for now.

A little later, Chris wakes up with a snort and a soft exclamation. Joey, who's sitting on the bed reading a crummy detective novel he bought in the Orlando airport's gift shop, looks over, smiling.

"Ah, fuck, I fell asleep, didn't I?" Chris says blearily.

"It's okay," Joey says. It seems strange, but he was kind of enjoying the quiet companionship, having Chris there, asleep and vulnerable on his couch. Like a piece of home is here with him.

"I'm sorry," Chris mutters, getting up and wandering into the bathroom.

"You want to go get some food?" Joey calls after him.

Over the sound of pissing, Chris yells back, "sure," and Joey grins. He can't believe how glad he is that Chris is here.

* * *

They go to the bar down the street, which is a grungy little place but serves great food, and Chris babbles about nothing and everything, talking about his flight and Dre and Joey just nods, listening to him. He thinks it should be odd that he's this comforted by Chris's presence, when he's only been away from Orlando for three days -- hardly enough time to start missing someone you've spent the greater part of the past five years with, after all. But he is, nonetheless, and he smiles over his _cerveza_ at Chris.

"What?" Chris says in the middle of his diatribe about the website.

"Nothing," Joey says.

* * *

The next day, Chris wants to see what there is to do, so they try some snorkeling and Joey checks out the parasailing, which Chris refuses to try because of his phobia about heights. He stays in the boat instead, watching Joey's signals, and Joey's glad to have him there.

Dinner is at the bar again, both of them pleasantly worn out from the day's exertions, and they stop at a liquor store on the way back to the villa.

They're standing out on the balcony with beers when Chris said, "This reminds me of something."

"What?"

" _Cuando sientas tristeza, que no puedas calmar,/i >..."_

Chris's countertenor is gentle, tender on the words Joey's still trying to learn. His pronunciation, flawless, makes Joey jealous. Ignoring the uncharitable emotion, Joey listens to Chris sing; his head is cocked to one side, his eyes closed, and his voice is pure and sweet, unaffected. It takes an effort, it's so instinctive to harmonize, but Joey restrains himself from joining in with even a hum. He wants to hear Chris's voice unaccompanied by anything but the roar of the waves.

When Chris finishes, holding the last note with careless ease, Joey reaches for Chris's wrist, tugs him down to the loveseat with him. Chris slumps affably, a heavy, sweet, solid lump against him, and nurses his beer. "This is good," he observes.

Joey breathes in the scent of Chris and doesn't answer. Maybe he's insane. Maybe the aroma of Chris, of sweat and salt, malty beer and tang of soap, is making Joey think thoughts he doesn't often entertain. Whatever the reason, when Chris turns his head up to look at Joey, his eyes dark and glistening in the starlight, Joey gives in to the impulse and drops his head. Kisses Chris. Momentary brush of lips, barely enough to feel heat and smoothness against his own mouth, and then he pulls back. Chris's hand has settled on his chest.

Chris is still looking at him with a sense of wonder. Joey licks his lips; fear skirls in his belly. "Um," he says, and can't manage anything beyond that. He's crossed a line, a border beyond which even the closest friendship might not survive, and he's worried for the sake of their friendship, for the fact that he might have insulted Chris. It just figures that he'd worry about all this stuff now.

But Chris just quirks a little smile, reaches up to touch his fingertips along Joey's jaw. "You know we can't go back," he says, and Joey's aware that he's not talking about Orlando.

"I know," he says. "I don't want to."

* * *

Chris is gentle, which Joey appreciates, since this is his first time being with a guy. He feels almost shy when he strips, but it lasts only until Chris blows bubbles on his stomach. He yelps, grabs Chris and flops him on the bed, landing over him; they're both laughing, and he feels relieved, relaxed. This is Chris, and Chris is all that is comfortable and fun and friendship.

'Friendship' isn't the word he's thinking of, though, when Chris's nimble fingers press into his boxers, or when Chris's hot mouth slicks over the head of his erection, opens for him. It's the last word on his mind when he comes, shaking and panting; and when Chris grins and guides Joey's hand to his own erect cock, Joey isn't thinking about much of anything but the avid gleam in Chris's fierce eyes.

It's all so new, this discovery of the differences of a male body, the unique pleasures, the sounds he's never heard Chris make but which are so erotic that his own toes curl in response. Watching Chris arch from the mattress, the sweat gleaming on his skin, Joey thinks he's never seen anything to impossibly hot. He's going to have to come up with a whole new scale to define the word 'hotness'.

Once Chris has come, Joey's hand milking him to an impressive orgasm, Joey looks down to the beads of semen dotting Chris's stomach. Experimentally, he swipes one up with a finger, licks at it. Chris, still panting, arches a wicked eyebrow at him, and Joey shrugs, smiles. "Wanted to see what you taste like?"

"Yeah?" Chris pulls at Joey until he collapses on his side, next to Chris, both of them sweaty from their exertions.

"Yeah." Joey smiles. "If this is gonna be more than a thing we never talk about that happened in Mexico." He swallows, looking down. "I mean, I, I'm not trying to find a replacement for Lindsey or something--"

"I know," Chris says gently. "We. I mean, I've never been in a relationship with a guy, but. I'm willing to give it a try. At least you know what I'm like and shit."

"Same here." Joey feels the tension uncurl in him, spreading into a warm lassitude. "So we. We can give it a shot?"

"Yeah." Chris brushes back some hair from Joey's forehead, leans in and kisses him, lingering. "Now get some sleep, Fatone. We got a long flight ahead of us tomorrow."

Joey grumbles, but he pulls up the covers -- Chris using a corner of a sheet to wipe himself off -- and they settle in, Chris's body compact and hot against him, like he's curled up to a furnace. Joey doesn't mind.


End file.
